


Barovian Nightmares

by TangledFables



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Aaaaaaangst, Alcohol, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, F/M, Love Triangle, Self-Harm, Suicide, Things will get very very dark in later chapters, This is mainly angst tbh, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Torture, Unrequited Love, Vampires, Violence, but I'm playing pretty fast and loose with the stuff in the module too tbh, if you count the Strahd novel as canon, non-canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-06
Updated: 2019-08-01
Packaged: 2019-11-13 00:26:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 2,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18021347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TangledFables/pseuds/TangledFables
Summary: A series of short flashbacks showing Strahd von Zarovich's past through the eyes of the woman he loved and his own memories. Told non-chronologically in dream-like vignettes.Content warnings in the tags but I should mention that the Strahd in this version is... not a good guy.





	1. The Bride Falls

A mournful wind whistles through the branches of a desolate forest. The black silhouette of a Raven passes across the full moon and some huge, heavy thing shakes the sharp thorns of a briar patch. The chill is deep enough to snap bones.

And the castle looms large as sin in the centre of the valley, like a spider in its web, waiting, waiting.

The bride flees through empty stone corridors. The Beast, slow and sure, follows far behind. She has nowhere to go and he has won. Time no longer holds meaning to him. He will catch her. He does not much mind when. This slow stalking pursuit will serve as his courtship.

Bright auburn hair streams like a banner behind her as elaborate braids fall away, the fragments of another life, another love. She breathes in. His footsteps echo below. She breathes out. There can be no planning or the Beast may hear her very thoughts.

For a second, moonlight blinds her and she stumbles to a halt. The wide doors to the overlook invite her. Her body freezes in sudden realisation. Don’t think, she remembers, but the thought is there and she hears the Beast hear her mind. He roars and now the race begins.

He is infinitely fast but she is infinitely resolved. He will not take her soul as he has taken everything else. This is the moment of her victory. She feels the brush of his fingertips on the back of her neck as she flings herself over the balcony.

Turning as she falls, she glimpses his pale, pale face, bleached white by the moon, and she is surprised by the depth of his grief. She had expected rage. She has stolen back her death from him. 

Then he is gone as the bloodstained lace of her wedding dress plumes around her. Everything is white and red, the air rushes past and then everything is black.

And the castle looms large as sin in the centre of the valley, like a spider in its web, waiting, waiting.

 


	2. The Princes

The Princes gleam as they ride into town, like twin suns shining the light of civilisation on this small corner of nowhere.

The younger, dimples creasing as he grins at the women throwing flowers, leans back to joke with his men. His hair is lighter, bleached chestnut by hot days at camp, his skin sunkissed and flushed with laughter. His soldiers point out pretty faces for him in the crowd and jostle him, making outrageous claims of his prowess. He winks and banters them back. His is a warm light.

The elder rides removed from their cheer. His dark eyes burn in his pale face, looking neither left nor right but always before him, always on the next step forward. He is beautiful but cold, like a diamond glittering in the dirt. There is a sadness there too. For all his youth and grace, this man has seen a world of sorrow. A world of pain.

The girl finds herself drawn to the edge of the crowd as he rides nearer, driven by an emotion she cannot name or understand. This man, this Prince is unlike any she has seen before. Secrets seem to weave around him like smoke, whispering of lives she might lead, pleasures untasted, worlds unexplored.

She half hopes, half fears that he will see her. She imagines those dark eyes turning slowly and swallowing her in their depths, burning away her frustrations her boredom her disappointments, until only the shimmering core of her soul remains. The roaring of the crowd fades away until all she hears is the slow drum of his horse’s hooves that echoes the beating of her heart.

Her spirit calls to him but he is deaf to it. He looks to the future, he keeps himself tightly bound to the course he has chosen, he will not see her. She tenses in silent appeal, rigid with terror and hope and inexplicable need.

An explosion of noise. The bellow of a hunting horn and, in her sudden surprise, she stumbles forward into the path of the great, black warhorse. The stallion rears, hooves like Warhammers skirting her face as she stands frozen with shock. Time stops and they are held in a breathless moment. He atop the rearing steed, she beneath, waiting for death.

And finally, inevitably, his dark dark eyes turn from the path ahead and meet hers. She sees them widen slightly as he finally sees her and she knows then, deep within her bones, that they are all lost.


	3. A Festival

The town is ablaze with victory and drunk with plenty. The woman rides the warm currents of its joy. A grinning stranger thrusts a steaming cup of spiced wine into her hands. Everywhere, people are rejoicing. The war is over, the princes returned, the harvest gathered. All is well with the world and the world is well once more.

Glowing lanterns line the streets and the smell of roasting meat fills her nostrils. Vellakhi will feast for days, the long famine over. Voices call out and she raises her own with theirs. Glory to Von Zarovich! Glory and life and everlasting peace to Barovia! She feels her spirits soar as she takes another heady gulp of wine.

A trio of women, decked in late-blooming flowers, begin to dance, feet stomping, hands clapping, skirts flying, and soon the town square is a tumult of whirling bodies and flashing colours. A crown of sunshine dahlia blossoms is placed upon her head. A hand closes around hers unseen and she is pulled into the dance, spinning with delight. 

And suddenly, he is before her as she knew he would be. As he promised he would. His tawny eyes are bright with laughter, his tan skin blushing with wine and triumph. His arm is around her waist, guiding her in the frenzied steps. Her hand grasps his, pulling him through the reeling crowd. They move together in perfect unison, like two long parted halves reunited; balanced and weighted and wondrously certain.

As the music slows, the golden prince pulls her closer. Secret words whispered in her ear, uncertain and longing. Sweeter than she ever could have imagined. She closes her eyes and her whole world becomes his voice, his warm breath feathering her cheek, his calloused palm softly grazing her own. They are still now as couples dance around them. They are the soft, secluded centre of the world.

But like an icy draft prickling over sleeping skin, she feels the other’s eyes upon her. He is never far when her golden prince is near. She pushes the thought away but always she is drawn, unwillingly, to seek this darkness. Is it dread, or something worse, that makes her lift her head from her lover’s shoulder and scan the crowd for that pale face that watches her with a coldly burning fury.

Into the silence within her mind she hears her own ragged breathing as her searching gaze locks with his. Her mouth is dry as fear and desire knot her stomach in a nauseous coil. She fights back tears as a deep, unwanted corner of her soul cries out for him; for darkness and madness and the harsh, bleak, frantic violence of it all. A single tear escapes and tumbles down her cheek.

His black eyes narrow. She buries her face in her lover’s warm neck, breaking their connection, rejecting her own poisoned wants. She clings to the life in her arms, arming herself against this call to death.

And when she looks again, the dark prince is gone.


	4. Memories of Her

He pours himself another brandy and stretches back into the velvet plushness of the armchair. Another long night. Another tedious night of memories scratching at his walls until he is too drunk to hold them back or drunk enough to fall into oblivion uncaring.

He wishes fruitlessly for the unthinking chaos of war.

In the flickering light from the fireplace, the brandy glows softly with rich amber light and he remembers her auburn hair flying as she fell into his path, that first day.

He gapes down, dumbstruck, at the waif that appears like witchery beneath the rearing hooves of his warhorse, taking her in in fragmented parts. The smooth line of her cheek. A crystal tear forming on the lashes of one staring green eye. Her pink lips parted in a frozen gasp. He simply thinks: _Beautiful._

And then the world rushes in. He wrenches on the reins, leans back and to the side, pulling the horse around with brute strength and missing the girl’s head by inches. The stallion fights him for a furious moment and, when he looks back, Sergei has snatched her in his arms, clever fingers cupping her cheek, an insipid look of concern upon his open face. The girl smiles gratefully up at her saviour, his brother.

He thrusts himself from the chair as a tide of red rage sweeps over him.

_Brother._

Who knew that one word could shrivel a man so thoroughly. He grinds his fist into the polished mahogany wall until sharp pain radiates from his knuckles and he feels something in his hand start to shift wrongly.

_Brother,_ she said, _will you not wish us joy?_

He has watched them from the shadows a hundred hundred times. He has seen their subtle touches and stolen looks. He has seen her succumb to Sergei’s pretty lies. He has seen his brother’s hands, which have fondled a thousand whores, caress her unstained flesh.

The glass shatters, drenching his fingers with brandy, burning into his blood as it drips onto the marble floor. It brings him back to himself and he relishes the clarity this pain brings.

He has seen all this. But he has seen her secret too. Seen her return his hunger. Seen the deep yearning in her for something more, something pure and primal and raw. She feels the bond between them and he will take what she longs to give.

He will watch no more.

He will act.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I thought it was time for some Strahd perspective and I'll be switching between him and Tatyana for a couple of chapters at least. I love reading your comments so let me know what you think!


	5. Sergei's Fragments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snippets of memories from Strahd's brother, Sergei von Zarovich, the Golden Prince.

They are too big and they push me down. Weakling, they call me, little princeling, snivelling mouse. I try to fight back but they are strong and there are so many. I hate the tears on my hot cheeks. When the kicking starts, I curl into a ball and try not to cry out. Then they are gone, running for the kitchens, fear on their faces. I look up. Strahd leans over me, pale face frowning. He takes my hand. Be strong, brother, he says. Be strong or the world will devour you.

Mother is crying in the other room. Strahd, white-cheeked and fist-knotted, paces the length of the nursery. He is too old for this place but they told him to watch me while Father rages. Viollca is already gone from the castle so there is no one else. Mother screams that she is a Vistani whore and we hear something heavy smash against the wall. Strahd goes for the door and stops. We wait but there is only silence. I wish I could have seen my sister before they took her away.

I am lost in the mist. Stranded on the battleground with the bodies of my men heaped in stinking, rotting piles. I am drowning in the blood-pooled swamp. My friends and my enemies whisper and scream and groan, choking on their own bile, begging for oblivion. This is war and every man slaughtered is another sin to scar my soul.

The stallion rears, thrashing hooves inches from the girl’s face. Without thinking I am off my horse and dragging her back. She is limp and heavy in my arms. Concussed? I tilt her face towards me, check her eyes, her breath, her skull. All fine. She whispers, thank you, and smiles. I feel an answering grin tug my lips. Perhaps there is more for me than blood. 

The dragon is dead and Barovia ours. Strahd is laughing in the blazing sunshine. I cannot remember the last time I heard the sound. He grabs me in a rough embrace. We are victorious. Barovia is ours. We have won. Still. The dragon’s eyes are clouding over. It was a noble beast. We shall not see its like here again. I close my eyes. 

A drop of rain slithers down my neck as they lay mother in the crypt. I am a prince, a soldier, a man. I cannot weep or rage where everyone can see. I cannot disgrace my family. Strahd is by my side like a statue. I must follow his example. The icy drop creeps down my spine. I wish Tati was here.

When Tati smiles at me everything makes sense again. I can breathe. She is laughing and crying and holding me and she said yes. I am reeling like I’m three bottles drunk and the world is spinning. She said yes. 

He is different since he came back from his pilgrimage to the south. He has always been cold but now it’s as though by brother is a different person. He stares into dark corners as though seeing someone there. He looks through me with empty eyes. Tati shoots me a worried gaze across the dining table. He barely eats anymore but drinks enough to fell a horse. I smile back at her to ease her fears. Perhaps he is lost with no more wars to fight. I will find him a woman after the wedding.

There is a sword in my gut. His eyes are black and horrified and terrible. I don’t understand. I try to ask him what is happening but… oh god oh god there’s a sword in my gut. Fire is ripping through my body, black acid in my throat and I’m sinking down down down down brother help me help me brother I’m sinking I can’t feel I can’t feel anything I can’t

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of my players managed to get themselves possessed by Sergei's ghost so we're getting a Sergei chapter now :)


	6. Tatyana's Lives

You remember now. You remember yourselves, many selves stretching many lives back through the dreadful centuries back to the beginning of it all.

You remember the time you were Tatyana, the first of you. Your parents called you Tati and you skipped through sunshine days and starlit nights. You loved a Prince and were loved by two. You stutter past the dark day when you lost them both. It is too much. Don’t look at it. It will break you.

You remember Marina when you met the Lord from the Castle and he told you so many things, told you that you were destined to be together, that you had loved him, that you were his soul mate. You believed it. Papa drove a stake through your heart with tears in his eyes while the priest held you down.

Alina was your next name. The Devil came to you at night and begged you to let him in but you said your prayers and shut him out. The fever took you the day before your 23 rd  birthday. It burned through you so hot, your last thoughts are nothing but jumbled colours and garbled sounds.

As Olya you came to the Morninglord’s spring for sanctuary from the Devil’s pursuit. You drank and remembered yourselves. You were alone, your family murdered by Strahd, and your mind could not fathom it, could not accept your hopeless captivity. You lost yourself, remembering yourself. You walked out into the cold waters of the long lake and gave yourself to the black and drowning deep.

The day after the Devil came to Kristiana, your village dragged you from your bed, blood still wet on your throat, kisses still lingering on your lips. They beat you until your whole world became pain and then the knives came out. You were still alive when they took your eyes and your tongue. The rest is mercifully gone.

Tara’s memories are shorter. You remember your parents talking with the tall man, fear on his face as he whispers instructions. They take you to the mists and tell you not to be scared. Mummy and Daddy love you very much. Quick kisses on the top of your head. The tall man opens a hole in the world. Mummy holds your hand and you step through together. There the memories stop.

Even as a child, Sasha knew your parents would sell you to the Devil when you were old enough. They recognised your face in the monument at the edge of town, in the woman the Devil loved. You had years to plan. You would take your revenge on him for all those times your mother looked at you and only saw gold coins. On your wedding night you looked him straight in the eye as you dragged the knife across your throat and delighted in the anguish there.

And then… You are Ireena. You worry for your brother, for your friends and for yourself. You know nothing of your other selves. You despair surrounded by the happy Martikovs, useless and alone. Just bait for the Devil. You stare into the fire and wonder miserably when he will find you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another of my players managed to absorb the memories of Ireena/Tatyana's incarnations over the generations so here we are :)


End file.
